From Cuckold to Collar

by Bob Neils

  Did she take them on one at a time, or get gangbanged in a back alley? I didn’t care, so long as I got to clean their anonymous cum from the deepest folds of her raw, well-fucked pussy. Beyond my lack of interest in the male form, wondering about every man I met was part of the cuckolding thrill.

  Tricia and her date were deliberately making a racket as they made their way down the hallway. I could hear them banging against the walls, bashing this way and that, and I knew it was for my benefit. They wanted me to know they were there. They wanted me to know they were coming.

  “Get on that fucking bed and spread ‘em!” Whoever he was, he sounded rough. His voice sounded like hard work, hard drinking, and heavy smoking. The bedsprings squeaked alarmingly as he threw Tricia onto the bed. “Get on all fours,” he growled, “and stick that ass in the air where I can spank it.”

  “Hold on a minute, let me get in position.” I heard the bed creak. “I want to make sure the cuck can hear every fucking word. I want him to know what it sounds like when a woman gets fucked by a real man.”

  I could hear movement, the sounds of the lovers adjusting themselves, arranging themselves into position. Plenty of gasping and grunting. Giggles and coos accompanying the sound of the headboard shuddering against the wall. I could picture it in my head . . . and I didn’t want to. This was too much. This was the side of cuckolding I wasn’t interested in. It was supposed to be enough that I knew she got fucked by other men. I mean, the whole point of our relationship was for her to bring me the evidence.

  I told myself I could deal with it, so long as I stayed in the closet. Hearing wasn’t the same as seeing. I could listen, I could imagine, but I didn’t want to bear witness.

  “Oh, Jesus Fucking Christ, you’re huge!” Tricia screamed out. “I’ve never felt a cock so big. I swear you’re going to tear me in two. I don’t think there’s anywhere deeper for you to . . . go! Oh, fuck, I was wrong.” Her voice was rising on every word, her breath short. “I’ve never been filled like that before!”

  “That’s right, bitch. Push yourself back on my cock. Show me what a slut you are. Show me how much you want it.”

  “I want it. I want it so much! Of all the men who’ve fucked me, none of them have ever filled me the way you . . .” Whatever she intended to say next was lost in a nonsensical series of screams and squeals.

  Hands over my ears, I clenched my eyes tightly buried my head behind a hanging dress.

  I could still hear them.

  The squeaking of the bedsprings was now accompanied by the slap of flesh-on-flesh. It was more than just fucking. It sounded like he was slapping her at the same time. I could just imagine his big, brawny hands landing on the smooth, creamy globes of her ass. I could almost see them jiggling beneath his touch. The imaginary sight of his cock disappearing inside her was more than I could take.

  I had to stop this. I couldn’t deal with this. We had an agreement. Tricia and I had talked about what we expected from our relationship and this wasn’t it. This was a betrayal, pure and simple. I knew other cuckolds thrived on this, lived for the humiliation, but that wasn’t for me. It wasn’t easy to dress in the dark, in such a confined space, but I pulled on my socks, wiggled my boxers up my legs, and began fishing for the right leg of my jeans.

  That’s when I noticed the room had gone silent. That didn’t bode well. It bothered me more than the noise of their fucking. I froze, afraid they would hear me getting dressed. It was too late. The closet door was wrenched open, and I tumbled out, landing half-dressed on the floor.

  “Oh, hi, honey. I didn’t know you were in there.” Tricia smiled at me from the bed. Her makeup was smeared, and her hair was a mess. As she raised herself up onto her knees, I could see the red handprints on her breasts.

  “As long as you’re here, faggot, you might as well make yourself useful.”

  Standing before me was a massive, muscle-bound specimen of a man. If steroids had a face, then he was it. I watched his white, hairy hand reach down, in slow motion, and marveled at how it just seemed to keep getting bigger. It was already around my neck when I had the sense to fight. I grabbed at it with both hands, but there was no give. He slapped my arms away with his other hand, before jamming it under my armpit and grabbing me in an awkward, but effective hold.

  “Let me go!” I fought him, but it was useless. I kicked at him, flailed at him with my arms, but he carried me across the room like I was a child. I was an average sized guy, in reasonably good shape, but he was inhuman.

  “Since the cuck so rudely interrupted us,” Tricia cooed, “we might as well put him to use. You’ve fucked me raw. Maybe a little lube is in order. All natural, so to speak.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He slammed me down on the bed, hard enough that it left me winded. I judged him to be Italian, Polish maybe, and a good fifteen years my senior. As he climbed onto the bed to straddle my chest, I forced myself to look away from his eyes – crazed and bloodshot, beneath a bushy unibrow – and stared at his scarred, tattooed chest.

  I could feel his hairy legs dragging along my flesh, his bony knees digging into my thighs. I could smell gasoline and the sweet scent of engine coolant beneath his sweat. His flesh was cold and clammy, his sweat clinging to every pore.

  “Get off of me!” I turned to look at Tricia. I could see here through the triangle of the brute’s bent arm, and she was clearly enjoying this. “Tricia,” I begged. “Please, stop this. This is not what I want, not what we discussed.”

  I could feel freshly oozing, slippery, slimy precum leaving a trail up my body as he moved closer. His cock – I refused to look at it – brought with it a heat that alarmed me. This had already gone way too far. It was time to put a stop to it.

  “Oooh, yes.” Tricia leaned in through the space beneath his arm. She kissed me, biting and sucking at my lower lip. I felt her tongue slip into my mouth. I involuntarily kissed her back. That’s when I felt her hand grasp my jaw, taking advantage of the moment to hold it open. “Now, you’re going to be a good cuckold and suck Antoine’s cock for me. I want to watch you take it deep.”

  I tried to shake my head, but she held me tight.

  “I’ve seen you do it before, babe.” Her eyes were glazed with lust. It occurred to me to wonder how long she had been planning this. “I want to see the tears in your eyes as he chokes you, as his monster cock reminds you of your place.”

  “No!” I felt the head of his cock slide across my chin. With the two of them holding me in place, I was forced to stare at the hairy chest above me. It was ugly. It was manly. It was exactly what I never wanted to see. Suddenly, a massive, grease-stained hand came up between us. I felt his callused flesh dig into the side of my face. He began pulling my head down, bringing my gaze closer and closer to the thick patch of pubic hair above his cock.

  “Do it.” Tricia squeezed harder. “Do it. Suck it. Take that dirty cock into your filthy cuck mouth and worship a real man.”

  “You’re going to look me in the eyes and thank me, faggot.”

  That did it. That was the line I would not cross.

  “No. I. Will. Not!” Overcome by a surge of adrenaline, I used my free hand to grab his balls. I yanked down, squeezed, and twisted. The moment he let up, I bashed my head into his and pushed him backward. It only bought me a moment, but it was enough for me to wiggle free.

  “Tricia.” I grabbed my clothes from the floor. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I backed away from the heaving, groaning, angry brute beside her. “Lose my number. We’re done.”

  Having walked back to the lot to find my car missing, a mess of broken glass left between the faded white lines, I’d wandered the streets until well into the evening. I’d wanted a shower. I felt dirty, soiled, contaminated by what had happened. The idea of returning to my own home, though, did nothing but fill me with dread. I didn’t want to bring anything of that taint back to where I slept.

  It was after eight when my cell phone rang out with the opening of Rihanna’s Cocki
ness, startling me out of my self-pitying walk of shame. Only one woman had that ring. Only one number on my phone triggered that song. I knew immediately who it was, but I didn’t know if I could speak to her, not now.

  I pulled the phone out of my pocket. My thumb hovered over the red button to disconnect the call, but that would be disobedient. As miserable as I was, my submission to the woman on the other end came naturally. It was undeniable.

  “Good evening, Mistress.”

  “No, it’s not.” Her voice was like silk. I whispered through the phone with a caress I could almost feel. “At least,” she clarified, “not for you.”

  I didn’t even bother to ask how she knew. She knew everything. Very little slipped past her notice. “No, Mistress. It has been a rough day.”

  “The day is over, bitch. Stop wallowing.” Her voice sharpened. I stood up a light straighter because of it, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Go home. Shower. Sleep. We will talk about your future tomorrow.”

  She disconnected before I could say another word.

  I was just about the put the phone away, when it buzzed with a series of messages.

  [This is not the end, but a beginning.]

  [Sometimes you need to lose something to find something.]

  [When you are unwilling to choose, life chooses for you.]

  [You are ready. It is time.]

  Did she mean what she thought I meant? Was she offering me what I thought she was? This was huge. This was something I never thought I would see.

  Would I still have gone to Tricia’s house, if I’d known such an offer was on the table? I didn’t know. Strike that, I did know. An offer was not an ultimatum. An open door was far different from a door that was closing.

  She was right. I sucked at making decisions. I could never have taken it upon myself to ask for what I hoped my Mistress was offering. No, even if I’d know, I likely still would have accepted Tricia’s ultimatum because that was what I did.

  I didn’t choose.

  I accepted.

  I submitted.

  It was what I did best.

  Time to Make Waves

  “You have reached your destination.”

  I canceled the GPS on my phone and looked up at the address before me. At first glance, the house was just another suburban bungalow, two stories, with an attached garage and an enclosed front porch. Twice the size of my little pad, mind you, but neither the crack den I’d feared nor the mansion I’d secretly hoped for.

  When I took a step back and really looked, however, I immediately noticed the ocean theme. The privacy hedge was sculpted into a wave pattern, complete with pointed peaks of differing heights and widths. There were two bird feeder fountains in the yard, one with a mermaid thrusting up from the waters, and the other with an octopus sitting atop it, tentacles draped down over the edges of the bowl. Her garden - itself immaculate, without so much as a weed or blade of grass - was bordered not with stone or cheap plastic barrier, but an undulating, sinuous wall of coral. Inside the garden, I could see shells of various types and sizes scattered throughout, with ceramic seahorses all-but-hidden between the rose bushes.

  I wondered if the gardener was a client, and whether he traded services for time in her dungeon.

  As I began to slowly make my way up the front walk, I noticed the theme didn't stop at the garden. Her windows were small seascapes themselves, white foam stretching across each in diaphanous curtains, blue-green waves of heavy drapes crashing at the edges. It was hard to see from outside, but it looked as if the curtains were tied back with cords of seaweed. I stepped up onto the porch and my fingers trailed around the faux-marble column, pitted and colored to look like it had spent centuries under water.

  It felt weird to be so nervous, but my stomach was churning as I lifted the small brass crab of a doorknocker.

  When the door opened, I almost apologized for having the wrong house. I had never seen Mistress outside of the dungeon, and never considered what she might look like when off duty. Seeing her in such a casual setting, looking . . . well, not ordinary, for she could never be ordinary, but laid back and relaxed, was a shock.

  “Um, hi?” I didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but I was still processing the vision before me.

  She was wearing a casual sundress, white with a single long-stemmed rose growing up from the bottom hem, curving across her ample waist, and then coming to an end with the flower itself blossoming around her beautiful right breast. Her feet and legs were bare, and aside from a dark, plum-red polish on her fingers and her toes, she didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup.

  What threw me the most, though, was her hair. It stuck out in all directions, a fan of tight, kinky curls that bounced and swayed as she tilted her head. I had never seen her in anything but the tightest of ponytails, with everything tied back and smoothed down. It looked amazing, and it suited her in a way I had never considered.

  “Mistress.” I coughed to cover my shock. “You look amazing.”

  “Not what you expected, I take it?”

  Before I could respond, she invited me in. The door closed behind us and my eyes adjusted to the light. I was only half-surprised to see that the left side of the hallway was one giant aquarium. She beckoned me forward with a single curl of her finger. I followed her down the hall and into the wide-open, brightly illuminated room on the other side of that aquarium. In fact, as I discovered, that aquarium didn’t just run alongside the wall, it was part of the wall, with the fish visible from both sides.

  She lowered herself into one of the easy chairs that faced the picture window. I instinctively moved to kneel before her, but she held her palm up to stop me. Instead, she pointed to the chair beside her. “Please, sit. We have much to discuss, and you have much to understand before we settle into what I hope will be a mutually fulfilling relationship. As was the case with your first visit to the dungeon, we will negotiate limits and expectations before entertaining thoughts of anything else.”

  We simply sat there for a few minutes, our gazes meeting every now and again, with a smile gracing my face every time I turned back from exploring the room to find her watching me. It was like a cross between a first date and an awkward meeting of strangers, but I appreciated how it served to further distance us from the dungeon on the other side of town.

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed the ocean theme running throughout the house,” she said, breaking the silence. “I chose it because it soothes me, and because it reminds me of my place in the universe. It reminds that no matter how confident or powerful we feel, no matter how in control we think we are, there is always something out there to which we must submit.”

  She took a moment to smooth the dress over her knee. I could almost see her rehearsing the conversation in her head.

  “It’s a lesson I learned seven years ago.” She paused. “I don’t often talk about how I came to be, but I have no fear of spoiling the fantasy for you.” A tiny smirk lifted the corner of her smile. “Back then, I was working another dungeon, studying under the only woman to ever dominate me. She’s amazing, as I’m sure you’ll discover, should things proceed as I desire.”

  I raised my eye at that, curious, but she kept going.

  “Anyway, I had saved enough to afford a surgical vacation, and I spent two glorious months on a gorgeous little beach in the Pacific. That was where I had my facial and vocal feminization surgeries, my upgraded breast implants, my liposuction, and my butt work. Healing was a slow and painful process, and I spent much of the first few weeks hiding in my hotel room, but then I realized the whole reason I’d gone there was to come out of hiding. So, I grabbed a book and a towel, hit the beach, and spent the rest of my time there.”

  Mistress wasn’t looking at me, but at the aquarium beside us. Judging by the look in her eyes, though, she was looking beyond that tiny box of blue and into another place, another time.

  “I watched the water, watched the waves, and marveled at how they reshaped the beach thro
ughout the day. I’m not just talking about washing out sandcastles but redefining the shoreline with every tide. I saw those waves swaddle young children, nudging them back to safety, and I saw them toss around grown men about like they were nothing. I watched ships sail with the tide, and I saw ships crash and capsize trying to fight against it.”

  She smiled at the memory, and it was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen on her face. I’d never been to the ocean myself, but I felt like I’d been there.

  “I saw a gigantic cruise ship run around on shifting sandbar. I saw a grand, three-masted sailing ship sitting becalmed for days. I saw the glass-like placidity of the ocean in the morning, and the angry, violently choppy waves of a stormy evening. I studied the ocean, and I learned to find a peace in it that family or faith was never able to offer.”

  I could almost see the threads of memory snap as the nodded her head. When she turned to face me, she was back in the moment. “This is my home, Tom. This is my solace. My refuge. My sanctuary. I do not bring clients here, and I do not play scenes here.”

  “It suits you, Mistress.” I felt strange to be speaking to her like that, having a conversation as opposed to responding to direction, but her smile encouraged me to continue. “This is not at all how I would have envisioned your home, and I feel very foolish about it. I’m still not sure why you asked me here, but I am grateful for the trust it shows.”

  “And that is why you are here.” She uncrossed her legs and tucked her feet beneath her instead. “You are a natural submissive. You have an instinctive understanding of your place and your role. It is like nothing I have ever seen in a client, and I have been thinking of this moment for a long time. As I said, this is my home, not a dungeon, and I am not interested in playing out scenes here. And yet . . .” she leaned forward, breasts of darkest brown straining against the front of the dress, “and yet, I am still a Mistress, and I still crave that exchange of power.”

  We sat there, silent, for what seemed like an eternity, yet was surely no more than a few minutes. “Tell me,” she finally asked, settling back into the chair, “if you were to live with me, and I were to come in that door, still dressed from a long day at the dungeon, what would you do?”